The City of Dreams
by EmpyreanSun
Summary: The Avengers compete in the London Olympics. Natasha is a Russian gymnast and Clint an archer who keeps dreaming about her. Thor and Loki are the British brothers, while Steve is the young decathlete, Tony a boxer and Bruce a weight lifter. As they compete friendships are formed and startling discoveries made. Team fic. T for possible violence and relationships.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One – London

As the plane banked sharply to the left, it finally dipped through the high layer of typical, British cloud that had been with them since leaving the Atlantic. For a few minutes all they could see were grey tendrils sweeping past the windows, and the plane went quiet in anticipation.

Although this was Clint's second Olympics, the time difference and long flight meant that he, like most of the team, had fallen asleep four years ago when they had circled over Beijing. He had chastised himself later for being foolish enough to miss seeing the capital from the air.

The archer had made sure not to make the same mistake this year by having three consecutive coffees. This was after he had fallen asleep for a short period once they had taken off from LA.

It was odd because he had once again found himself dreaming about the same thing that had visited him in sleep the past few nights. A woman. She had a slim build and was wearing a pale blue dress that hugged her slender curves. Being a contrasting colour, it ignited her fiery red hair which curled down her back. She seemed very beautiful, but always had her back to him. He called out to her, and in each dream she turned a little more, but he still hadn't fully seen her face.

In the most recent version, he had seen the curve of her cheekbone, an emerald earring and the beginning of dark lashes, before Bruce nudged him awake.

Clint was both grateful and disappointed for the interruption. She seemed far too vivid to be a figment of his subconscious. But he had never met her in his life. How could you dream about someone you didn't know? Who was she?

He was snapped back to the present by several audible gasps from other athletes, and Bruce's surprised 'Wow' as the plane broke down through the cloud, and London was revealed.

At eight o'clock it was mid-morning, and the capital was already more than alive. Tiny cars glided down tiny lanes like multi-coloured creatures. Miniscule dots, that began to reveal themselves as people the lower the plane dropped, glided in all different directions.

More gasps could be heard as the breath-taking landmarks of Big Ben, and the London Eye, revealed themselves in rays of gold sunlight that were filtering through the clouds.

Gold. That's all anyone had been talking about in the American team for weeks. Some of the coaches and trainers were adamant that this was the best team they had had for years. A few had said the same thing four years ago and then they had been pipped for first place by China.

Of course the Chinese had the home court advantage, which would be Britain's this year. While a much smaller country, they had certainly done well at the Commonwealth and World Championships, and were not to be underestimated.

Clint had overheard many discussions about how talented their up-and-coming athletes were. The pressure on team USA seemed greater than ever. But he had never been the sort to let that bother him. Instead he leaned across Bruce to look out the window again and enjoy their descent.

After landing and being whisked through customs, Clint, along with the rest of the USA team, was swiftly shown to his home for the next two weeks. Each apartment was spacious and well-furnished, and, having been built within the last two years specifically for the games, exquisitely modern.

As Clint set down his over-sized suitcase and archery bag in his new room his eyebrows rose slightly in uncharacteristic surprise. He was rarely taken aback, but he definitely hadn't been expecting this.

To his left an open-plan breakfast bar and kitchenette sat gleaming with brand new furnishings. The main living space spread out straight in front of him, with a double bed, followed by a large wardrobe on one side, and a sofa in front of a flat screen television on the other.

Clint took a moment to look out of the windows, which stretched from floor to ceiling, and admire the view of the Olympic park close by, before beginning to unpack.

A short while later there was a timid knock at the door. The archer knew instantly that it was Bruce. He could tell simply by the knock. Opening the door, he let the other man in with a brief smile.

"Nice place they've built here. Used reinforced steel so they could add an extra few floors in. Your room's pretty much the same as mine – just reversed."

Clint nodded and offered him a drink. He liked Bruce; the man had a mellow, well-meaning nature. Also a bit of a scientist by all accounts. The guy was always trying to help other people – more so than himself sometimes.

But he seemed to completely transform when he stepped onto the mat to lift weights. Clint had watched him quite a few times and the change in his demeanour was almost palpable. He became furious, and utilised that anger to lift even more kilos. It was quite something.

The two men chatted for a few more moments before there was another knock at the door. This one loud and impatient. Tony.

The archer opened the door again and confirmed his suspicions. The boxer opposite him affected his usual confident-bordering-on-cocky stance. Behind him stood a sheepish looking Steve Rogers. He was their youngest decathlete at twenty two, and a relatively new addition to the team.

"Hey target practice." Tony greeted, adopting one of several nicknames he had for Clint and strolling into the room.

The archer had known Tony for quite a while, hence the latter's over-familiarity. They had met about five years ago in training for the last Olympics; six months after he had met Bruce.

Steve, on the other hand, he had only known for a few months since their different training hadn't brought them together too often. That of course explained why the blonde man was still hovering on the threshold

"Hey Clint." Steve smiled.

"Hey Steve, come on in."

Clint didn't always warm to people straight away, and it took even longer for him to trust them. But with Steve he had instantly been able to tell he was a good man. If Clint had to, he'd chalk it up to two things. The decathlete's open, honest nature. And the fact that his smiles were always genuine.

The four men congregated by the tall windows.

"Wow, quite the view." Tony uttered. "Steve and I are down the hall. These rooms aren't bad. Remind me of when I was at MIT. They could do with a skylight though."

"Of course_ you would_ be re-designing the architecture of the place before we've even finished unpacking." Steve chuckled.

"Just adding my two cents."

"Yeah, but Tony Stark's two cents is actually ten dollars." Steve said shaking his head.

"Well people are getting more for less then. Hey do you guys know we're the first team here? Apart from Russia, that is, who elected to get here before anyone, probably to take over the gym. Speaking of, should go and check it out."

"What?" Steve asked.

"The training gym of course. Apparently it's huge, got all the state of the art equipment too. It's only ten minutes from here. We should go, let's go right now."

"Well I'm done unpacking." Clint said.

"Same here." Bruce added.

"We might as well scope the place out." Tony said, the glint in his eye suggesting he knew he was winning.

"Ok, sure," Steve concluded, not feeling like he had the authority, with being one of the newest members of the team, to stop the others, "might as well keep our legs moving after an eleven hour flight."

"Precisely." Tony all but exclaimed, pointing a finger at Steve as though the man had just affirmed one of his theories.

Tony had studied engineering at MIT, and, at some point, had taken up boxing while he was there. He had never confided in Steve his specific reason for joining the boxing society, just that it interested him.

While he was now a professional boxer, Steve could tell that engineering still owned a piece of Tony's heart, as he was constantly inventing new theories and technical gadgets. The guy had actually brought along a cardiovascular unit, that he was working on, which was the size of an iPod and also doubled up as a radio. He had proclaimed that he was trying to fit it with an AI system. This seemed to be bordering on crazy to Steve, but according to Tony it was perfectly possible.

The decathlete's thoughts drifted back to the present conversation as they neared the gym. Tony was making witty remarks about the Russian team, and joking about the Brits wanting to make a dramatic entrance as they arrived at the security-guarded doors.

Flashing IDs and access passes, in what seemed to Clint a celebrity-like manner, they entered the building.

Steve seemed to instinctually know where they were going, so they followed him down a few pristine corridors, stopping only once so Tony could sign an autograph for a star-struck young member of staff.

Reaching the large double doors that were clearly their destination, Steve swiped both his cards and let them in.

Clint whistled as they entered. Huge didn't quite cover it. The training gym was rectangular in shape and held almost every piece of equipment needed for indoor sports. It was an organisational triumph. Everything had its own station, some of which were occupied by Russian athletes.

Steve was announcing how great the room was, and Tony was making a sarcastic joke about understanding now why the Russians had arrived so early, but Clint wasn't listening to either of them.

Half way across the room was a slender Russian gymnast with fiery red hair curling down her back.

It was her.

He didn't know how, but it was the woman he had been dreaming about. Clint had been haunted by the question of whether she was real or not. And here she was, completing perfectly balanced somersaults on a beam not ten metres from him.

He still couldn't see her face though. She had her back to him. Clint mentally pleaded with her to turn around.

The archer then wondered if some part of her subconscious had heard him, as a few tenuous heartbeats later, after finishing a backwards walkover, she turned to look right at him.

The coldest ice blue eyes met his own, and the red curls framed a heart-shaped face and fair skin. A soft blush decorated gentle cheekbones, but it was more from the workout than from noticing an admirer.

He had been right in his assumption. She was beautiful. Their eyes locked for a critical moment and then the connection was gone as she looked away.

The conversation of his three teammates drifted slowly back into focus. Clint felt irrepressibly torn between his desire to find out who she was, and the need to keep it to himself.

How could he explain that he had seen her in his dreams without sounding like he'd lost focus on the games?

He threw a few thoughts into the conversation so that the others wouldn't realise how far away his mind truly was, then suddenly spied Maria coming towards them.

Maria Hill was friendly, but you could always count on her to be direct. This was her first Olympics and she seemed pleased to see a familiar face. She was one of four American athletes competing in the shooting, and had been taught by her uncle Coulson. He was another of the four competing, and this would be his fourth Olympic games. At 41 he was one of the more senior members of the team, and treated everyone like a member of the family. Tony had nicknamed him 'agent' because of his work ethic and precision.

Maria stopped to chat with Clint for a few moments, praising the gym and village in general. As she was about to move off to speak to the others, who were now setting their things down on a bench, Clint swiftly asked her his question.

"Hey Maria, who is that?" he motioned to the red-haired woman he now had a view of in profile; she was talking to her coach.

"The gymnast?" Maria replied. "She's a rising star of the Russian team. Apparently she specialises on the beam. I'm surprised you haven't heard of her; she's become known as 'The Phoenix' because of her hair and poise. That's Natasha Romanov."


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Hey guys. Once again I find myself apologising for the ridiculous amount of time that's past since I last updated. I've been incredibly busy with Uni work, which for now has eased off, meaning I can get back to my writing.

I'm not sure how I feel about this story any more though. When I read through what I've written I just don't feel like it's some of my best writing. I have lots of other chapters planned, but if I think that they aren't going to be written well then I find myself losing some of the motivation to write them. I want to be honest with you, so you know where I stand one this story. I may decide to put it on a hiatus for a while. I am however, definitely continuing my other chaptered stories, so don't worry about those.

Chapter Two

Natasha Romanov. The name had been gliding round Clint's head for the last twenty four hours. Gliding because it was so lyrical. Made even more so by the fact that its owner was a gymnast. She seemed to be using less than a quarter of her talent in the training gym. Giving nothing away. He wondered how graceful she'd truly by once she took the stage.

He was snapped unwillingly out of his reverie by Tony strolling through his door. It took most of Clint's skill not to instinctively loose an arrow from the bow he was cleaning.

"Woah relax." Tony said holding his hands up in mock surrender. "Just me."

"How'd you get in?" Clint grumbled. "The door was locked." He slowly lowered his weapon.

"I 'borrowed' your pass key earlier in case I needed to make a surprise entrance."

"Yeah and I took that back without you noticing."

"Surprise." He tossed the pass onto the bed where Clint was sitting and headed straight for the window. "I thought you might not let me in otherwise. You get so serious before the opening ceremony."

"You're mistaking seriousness for focus." Clint replied.

"A mere technicality really. You should come and look at this. Steve is being boring and catching up on sleep, but I thought you would appreciate _this._"

Though he wouldn't openly admit it to the other man, Clint was mildly intrigued and moved toward the window.

"The British have arrived."

The boxer seemed to say this with a slight thrill, and the archer could see why. Most of the other athletes in the square below had ceased what they were doing to watch the once hundred strong group of British men and women walk through the park.

Tony had been right about them making an entrance. Their white outfits were dazzling in the afternoon sun, and the red and blue stood out boldly for all to see. This was less than half their team, and they still managed to effortlessly look imposing.

Clint recognised quite a few faces and pointed them out before Tony motioned to two figures in amongst the centre of the crowd.

"I've heard about him." The boxer said tapping the window where a tall, blonde man was walking, laughing heartily with others around him.

"The British hammer thrower. The youngest Brit ever to win a World Championship. Won the European in the next year apparently. This is his first Olympics and he's been asked to carry the flag."

"He looks like a Greek God." Clint murmured with a sarcastic smirk.

"More like Norse really. Especially with the name _Thor."_ Tony snickered. "Did his parents not know about the concept of high school bullies? I'd forgotten the Brits have that secret eccentric streak far beneath all the layers of grumpiness."

Clint didn't bother to mention Tony's own eccentric traits.

"I recognise _him _too." The boxer added thoughtfully. He was pointing to a slighter, dark-haired man walking near to Thor, but on the outside of the group. "That's his brother, Loki."

"I would be interested to hear the story of those baby names."

"Perhaps they were drunk when they thought them up." Tony laughed darkly.

"What sport does Loki compete in?" Clint asked, eyes never leaving the group.

"Um, show jumping, I think. All the dressage stuff. I'm pretty sure he's the younger brother." The older man mused.

He may have misjudged, because they were quite high up, but from Clint's perspective Loki didn't look as happy or excited as any of his teammates. He didn't get long to reflect on this though, because Tony checked the time and announced that they should both be going to get ready for the opening ceremony.

It wasn't often, though, that Clint's eyes were wrong.

~A~

Dusk had long since faded and the London ceremony was in full swing. In the dark, cool Capital air sound and nervous excitement seemed to carry faster and further.

"Is this not the grandest opening night you have ever witnessed Loki?" Thor asked, with a grin, from their position waiting to enter the stadium.

He stood at the head of the British crowd, flag rippling tentatively as he watched the screen relaying what was happening inside.

"It is indeed, but you are thoroughly biased." Loki, who was standing just to his brother's left, replied.

"This is our home games. We are entitled to be biased!" Thor boomed. When Loki did not acknowledge this he added: "You do not seem all that happy brother."

"Just because I am quiet, does not mean I am not content. I'm just less openly brazen about it than you." The younger man retorted with a smirk.

Thor looked hurt for an instant, then smiled as Loki started to chuckle.

"Who'd have guessed they'd use a fifty foot Voldemort."

Thor laughed with him. "Certainly not I. Though it is impressive."

They continued to watch in companionable silence as the tension mounted and their time to enter the stadium drew closer.

~A~

Clint could find nothing suitable to describe the feeling of walking into a stadium and being met with a wall of noise. There was clearly more support USA here, because even Beijing hadn't been this loud. Having thousands of people cheer for your team gave a sense of patriotic pride that Clint imagined only an Olympian would understand.

He watched Steve wave the flag, the other man's face telling Clint that they had definitely chosen the right person.

The team circled the stadium and the settled, as much as possible considering the heightened atmosphere, into their position.

In between watching the spectacle and discussing other teams, Clint kept a look out for Natasha Romanov. Russia had had entered a while before the USA, and he knew their team were wearing red and white.

The archer thought he'd spied her vivid hair when the team had been on the tv screen and the USA had been waiting, but the coverage switched cameras and his sighting had been lost.

The alphabetical order began to near the team the home crowd were waiting for, when, suddenly, he saw her through gaps in different groups of people. He couldn't really explain why she stood out for him. Not even to himself. But there she was; a rosy beacon.

She was two sections away, looking stunning in the long, sparkling red dress that all the female Russian athletes were wearing. Clint privately thought that it looked much better on her than anyone else. Then it quickly dawned on him that the dress was the same one from his dream, but a shade of deep red instead of pale blue. It collided beautifully with her hair. How could anyone else match that?

Something seemed amiss to Clint though. She held a serene expression on her face, but tension was betrayed by her eyebrows running into a frown.

Clint nonchalantly dropped this into conversation and was told by Maria that there was some tension in the Russian gymnastics team. She didn't know why, only that there were whispers of Natasha having turned down carrying the flag.

Their conversation was stopped from progressing further by the increasing buzz that drew to a crescendo around the stadium before dropping to a quiet hush. They had reached the final team. The British were coming.

As the muscular figure of Thor emerged from the dark tunnel with the flag, the stadium came alive with noise and ablaze with flashing lights. A roar rose up through the stands as he was quickly followed by the long procession of the British team.

"They're definitely the ones to watch this year." Tony asserted loudly from somewhere on his right.

Clint couldn't help think that, cheered on by the home crowd, they did look worryingly impressive. Perhaps Tony was right.

~A~

After the Brits took their place several speeches followed. The games were declared officially open. Then it was time to light the torch. An awed hum began to spread like a wave as people spotted the flame coming down the tunnel. It changed hands a few times before reaching its final destination. An explosion of sound ensued as the cauldron was lit, and rose up into its vertical form. The thirtieth Olympiad had begun.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N~ Once again I'm posting at an ungodly hour, but here's chapter three. Thank you so, so much to everyone who reviewed the last chapter. I was feeling slightly disconnected with this story and wasn't sure whether to continue it or not, but your comments were a huge confidence boost. They helped me decide that I am going to carry on with this story for now as long as I feel that my writing is hitting a better standard. I didn't feel that it was in chapters one and two, but I feel marginally more pleased with this one.

Since it's late I haven't proof read it all the way through (terrible, I know) but your reviews were so positive and enthusiastic that I really wanted to give you the chapter tonight and not make you wait any longer (even if it may be at the expense of a few errors). It involves Thor and Loki bonding and some Loki whump, so enjoy reading and please leave another review - they were just so lovely last time and I really like hearing your thoughts.

Chapter Three – Unexpected Obstacles

The first day was ruled by the excitement of swimming and rowing, with the Americans beginning to emerge victorious in the pool.

On the second day these sports continued, but it was also time for the dressage. Loki fiddled nervously with the buckles of his boots, then adjusted his riding hat before moving to secure his horse's bridle.

Sleipnir nuzzled the side of his face gently, making his hat slip sideways so it sat at a comical angle.

"Stop that." Loki chastised before rubbing the animal's nose.

Sleipnir had the uncanny ability to sense whatever he was feeling, even though they had only been paired as rider and horse for two years. Right now he was feeling uncharacteristic nerves.

At twenty three this was his first Olympic games. He had competed at the World Championships last year, but Sleipnir had not quite reached adulthood and the journey had spooked him. They had finished ninth.

Loki rearranged his hat, strapping it on tighter this time. He idly wondered where Thor was and whether _he_ would feel such nerves, then mentally rebuked himself for making the comparison to his brother.

Thor had a natural confidence that flowed into everything he did. His endless enthusiasm aided this. Loki had tried not to feel jealous of this trait over the last few years. He did sometimes wonder how they could be related so closely, and yet be so different.

The green-eyed man did take some pleasure in the fact that while Thor had more medals to speak of than he, his sport was all muscular force. It lacked finesse. Dressage was much more of a fine art. It required intelligence and much skill, as well as a close relationship with the horse. With that in mind, he stood a little taller as he finished the preparations.

The sound of footsteps rounding the corner made him look up. There stood Thor in his team outfit. He held a small, proud smile on his face.

"I came to find you to wish you good luck brother. How are you feeling?"

"Rather good actually." Loki lied. "Don't you have training?"

"I took an hour off. I thought I might watch, if you consent?"

"I suppose you would be good support."

Thor chuckled. "You do not need my support, even though you will always have it. You have the support of the whole crowd! Nearly all are British."

Loki looked surprised for a moment but did not say anything. He felt somewhat guilty for his previous thoughts about his brother. Thor moved closer and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Do not feel nervous. You have expectations on your shoulders but they will not crush you. I have faith that you will do well. That, combined with your own belief and the faith of the nation should hold you up." He stepped back and regarded Loki warmly. "Good luck today, brother."

With that he walked out of the stall, leaving the younger man with the feeling that he had just witnessed the kindest wisdom anyone had could have given him.

~A~

Loki rode out fourth into the arena to the deafening kind of applause he wasn't used to. The adoration secretly thrilled him. It also filled him with belief. He settled Sleipnir into position and they began the intricate dance of horse and master.

He finished to even more thunderous applause, knowing that he had perhaps only done the routine better once before in training.

As he guided the grey horse to face each side of the stand to wave he caught sight of his brother in the front row. Thor's applause was more rapturous than anyone's. They shared a look that left Loki feeling intensely proud as he rode to the edge of the perimeter to wait for his score.

When it flashed up he allowed himself a small, genuine grin. It was good, very good in fact. After all twenty seven riders in the men's category had completed their dressage it placed him third.

He returned to the locker rooms whilst contemplating his position. He had set himself up perfectly for cross country in two days' time. The women's individual dressage was scheduled for tomorrow, so he could take Sleipnir to the practice grounds for some light training.

The two riders ahead of him were the senior Frenchman Jean-Pierre, who had won gold at the last two Olympics, and the young Czech, whom he had become friends with at the World Championships. The Frenchman was definitely one to watch, but the two German riders lingering in sixth and seventh place were not to be underestimated.

Cross country was probably the easiest of the three disciplines that made up horse riding, for Loki at least. Show jumping was the section where even the best riders could come undone. He had seen competitors drop from first to tenth place solely through a bad round of show jumping. He would have to make sure the same thing didn't happen to him.

As he unlocked the locker containing his belongings he contemplated what his coach had said in the final training session before the games.

_If you hit each gate right your show jumping could destroy the competition. _

Loki sceptically wondered if that had just been said to give him confidence. He took off his riding jacket and folded it before placing it in his bag and putting his gloves next to his hat.

So occupied was he by his thoughts that he didn't hear two steps of footsteps approach behind him. Suddenly he was roughly elbowed backwards into a set of lockers. The sharp edge of an open door grazed his shoulder.

The two Swedish competitors stood imposingly before him. They were the same height as him, but not as slight. Currently they lay in fourth and fifth position.

"Impressive dressage today Loki Odinson." The taller of the two said in broken English before he had time to demand what they were doing.

"Very." The other added, his accent much softer. "You didn't ride like that at the World Championships."

The heels of his riding boots clicked as he paced in an almost predatory manner. Loki realised he was facing the fiercely competitive Eriksen brothers.

"I wasn't nearly as well trained or experienced back then." He said carefully but with a touch of defiance.

"Perhaps it's more than that." The pacing brother suggested.

"I don't know what you fools are daring to suggest-" He retorted surging forward angrily, only to be cut off abruptly by a hand grabbing him by the throat. He was pulled away from the lockers before being swiftly slammed back into the wall next to them.

"Watch your tone." The bulkier of the two snapped. Loki promptly sized them up and decided that the one pacing was clearly the brains – if attacking a fellow competitor could be called intelligent. Which would make the one pressing down on his windpipe the brawn.

The former stopped pacing and fixed him with a calculating look.

"I was merely suggesting that you seem to have improved rapidly in such a short spell of time. One might even think too rapidly."

"True," The second brother joined in, "and your horse is an interesting one. What kind of a name is Sleipnir? And who rides a _grey_ horse in an Olympic competition?"

"It's of Norse origin," Loki returned snippily, "and far more original than the other average names." He could see their expressions darkening, and yet still couldn't help but twist the proverbial knife in. "As for the colour, only someone who was worried about it being more noticeable and more talented than theirs would possibly comment on it."

He felt satisfaction flood his mind as the words left his silver tongue, but grimly noted that he may have gone too far when the larger brother instantly tightened his grip on Loki's neck.

Panic began to make his skin tingle as the Swede lifted him slowly upwards until his feet barely met the floor.

"Mind your tongue." The smaller of the two hissed slowly. The lack of air may have made him read too much into it, but Loki could have sworn there was a hint of bloodlust in his tone.

As his vision started to turn grey and clouded, he dully heard the brother he had marked as 'intelligent' speak to the other.

"Greger, that's enough. Put him down."

"Fredrik…"

"Now," The blonde added when his brother did not immediately comply, and the unrestrained hostility in his voice was enough to make Greger thrust Loki into another line of lockers.

The Brit immediately gasped, breathing raggedly from his crumpled position on the floor. His sight had only just begun to clear when one of the two grabbed his hair and wrenched his head backwards so that he was forced to look at them both towering over him.

"I suggest," Fredrik purred, "that you don't get too comfortable in your position near the top. Don't give yourself too much of a lead…or there could be consequences."

"This is illegal," Loki gasped, "I can report you-"

"Oh you don't want to do that." Fredrik cut him off quietly; his voice dangerously smooth. Greger's grip on his hair tightened making him wince involuntarily.

"You don't want to do that at all."

"I don't care what you do to me-" Loki snarled struggling slightly as he regained some of his fight, only to be interrupted again.

"Who said it would be you receiving the consequences? You wouldn't want to report us to the committee and then find that your brother had met with a sudden, unfortunate accident."

Loki froze at the mention of Thor.

"In fact, I don't think you'd want to tell anyone about this…discussion we've had. Your brother's hammer throw isn't going to be very impressive if he can't use his right arm. Just think on that next time your horse makes a jump, Loki Odinson."

With a final twist of his hair they were gone; leaving him slumped against the lockers, his throat burning. It took him a few minutes to regain his breath and several more before he gingerly pushed himself into a sitting position.

Loki had just found his way to his feet and was leaning against the wall when he heard footsteps approach.

He tensed, wondering if they were coming back to add to their list of threats. But it was neither Fredrik nor Greger that rounded the corner.

It was Thor.


End file.
